“Does that surprise you, Sir Silent? Yes, that selfsame Schumacker who, strange to say, would again fall into my hands should it please the king to recall his reprieve. Let us empty this jug, gentlemen, and I will tell you how it happens that after so brilliant a beginning I end my career so miserably. “In 1676, I was assistant to Rhum Stuald, the royal hangman at Copenhagen. At the time of Count Griffenfeld’s sentence, my master falling ill, I was, thanks to my powerful patrons, selected to act in his place. On June 5,--I shall never forget that day,--at five o’clock in the morning, assisted by the carpenter, I erected in the public square a huge gallows, which we hung with black, out of respect for the prisoner. At eight, the king’s guards surrounded the scaffold, and the Schleswig Uhlans kept back the crowd that thronged the square. Who would not have been dazzled in my place? Erect, and sword in hand, I stood waiting on the platform. All eyes were upon me; at that moment I was the most important personage in the two kingdoms. My fortune, thought I, is made; for what could all these great lords, who have sworn the chancellor’s ruin, do without me? I already regarded myself as the royal hangman of the town, by letters-patent; I had servants and privileges of every sort. Just listen! The clock on the fortress struck ten. The prisoner left his cell, crossed the square, and ascended the scaffold with a firm step and calm face. I wanted to tie his hair; he refused, and himself performed this last office. ‘It’s a long time,’ he said smilingly to the prior of St. Andrew’s, since I dressed my own hair.’ I offered him the black bandage; he declined it scornfully, but without showing any contempt for me. ‘My friend,’ said he, ‘this is perhaps the first time on record, that the space of a few feet ever held the two officers representing the extremes of the law,--the chancellor and the executioner!’ Those words have remained graven on my memory. He also refused the black cushion which I would have given him for his knees, embraced the priest, and knelt, after declaring his innocence in a loud voice. Then I broke his escutcheon with a single blow of my mace, crying aloud, as is the custom, ‘This is not done without just cause!’ This affront shook the count’s firm bearing; he turned pale, but soon mastered himself and said, ‘The king gave me my arms; the king can take them from me!’ He placed his head on the block, turned his eyes toward the east, and I raised my sword in both hands. Now listen! At that instant a shout fell upon my ears,--‘Pardon, in the king’s name! Pardon for Schumacker!’ I turned; I saw a royal aide-de-camp galloping toward the gallows waving a parchment. The count rose, with a look not of pleasure, but of satisfaction. The parchment was handed to him. ‘Good God!’ cried he, ‘imprisonment for life! Their mercy is more cruel than death.’ He stepped, looking like a thief, from the scaffold which he had mounted so serenely.